Walk
by acme54
Summary: Tired of Dean and Sam on a long trip, John makes them get out and walk. Teen!Winchester fic.
1. Chapter 1

Time: Night time.

Place: highway to not there.

Who: Winchester snr, 2 x Winchester jnr

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"One more word. Out of either of you." John snarled, eyes not leaving the road. "You walk"  
"Yes sir" the two voices piped up from the back seat.  
Whispering "Three bags full sir. Suck up" to Dean.  
Dean whacked his brother's arm with the back of his hand. Grinning, just before he got a kick in the shin. Sammy never could have reached, even a year ago.

The car stopped. Both boys were thrown into the seat in front. Dean automatically reached for his knife, while Sam took extra seconds to extract himself from the floor.  
"Get out" their Dad didn't even look at them.  
"He started it" Sam whined  
"I didn't ask who started it. Get out" the order in the tone invited no arguments.  
"But..." Sam argued any way.  
"I'm counting to three. If you are still in this car at three, there will be a death in the family"  
"I need new shoes. I can't go to Sammy's funeral in these." Dean stuck his foot under Sam's nose.  
Sam took a big swipe at his brother's leg and rolled his eyes. "I'm not inviting you to my funeral." Dean moved before Sam made contact with him

A knife for one, a gun for the other and shoes, coats, money. Out separate doors and they had barely closed before the car took off. Watching as the tail lights disappeared off into the gloomy darkness.  
"I hate it when he does this" Dean sighed.  
"If we had a home, or friends we could call, then it wouldn't matter" Sam stormed off down the side of the road.  
"Sammy" Dean called after him.  
"If he didn't want us with him, he could just leave us somewhere" he waved his hands in the air.  
"Sammy" walking a step behind.  
"He could visit us and…" Sam stepped in some road kill, he cursed under his breath.  
"You might want to listen to me. Dude. What I was going to say was, you might want to take a step to the right" Dean laughed as Sam wiped his foot on a clump of plants. "And Dad would never leave us. He wants us to be safe. We are safest with him. We are safe together. It's safer."  
"He has left us Dean. We are out here, in the dark, alone"  
"Training" he shrugged, patted his pockets. "Gum?" he offered his brother a stick.  
"Dark. Alone. Middle of no where Dean" Sam stomped off down the road.

They walked in silence for about a mile.

The lights of the small truck stop came out of the darkness. Without thinking both boys had assessed the area for an escape route and possible dangers. Then gone straight to the diner.

Safety. Food. Shelter.

That order had been drilled into them. They understood their surroundings here better than any other. Many years on the road had brought them to places like this before.

* * *

Sam climbed into the booth. His bag beside him. Dean sat opposite and pushed his bag into the back of the bench.  
He shook his head at Sam. "How do you think you'll get past that bag, if a werewolf jumped the partition?" he pointed at the window.  
"The same way you would. Hide under the table, then slide under the bench to the next booth." Sam picked up the menu, looking at the pricelist. "Then realise, that there is no full moon and we just ran away from a hairy biker" He pulled out a crumpled pile of notes and some coins.  
Dean looked embarrassed. He looked out the window to the moonless night. He cursed under his breath.

A waitress came from the kitchen, round the end of the long counter, towards the rows of booths. A faint country song played monotonously in the background.  
"You boys doing ok?" she asked.  
Sam yawned and looked immediately sleepy and innocent.  
Dean turned on a full wattage smile and skilfully weaved a tale of their Dad being with the tow truck and there only being room in the cab for two.

"Dad said he wouldn't be long. We should get some of your famous pie and wait for him, ma'am" Dean pulled no punches in the finely tuned story. They had used it every other town until Dean looked old enough to be out on his own. Today, however it would get him free coffee and Sam pie.

People believe Sam's silences quicker than Dean's stories. She looked at the skinny kid and at the pile of change he had pulled out of his pocket. Enough for a piece of pie and a soft drink. She winked at them, pushed the pile of change back at Sam. "I'll get you and your brother some pie"  
"One piece is fine ma'am" Sam pushed the money back across the table.  
Seeing the determination on his face she took three dollars and left him the coins. "Special tonight. Two for one."  
"Coffee included?" Dean chanced his luck.  
"Coffee and Dr Pepper. Free re-fills" she favoured the boys with a genuine smile. Sam yawned again, rubbed his eyes. "Thank you ma'am"  
When the waitress was out of sight,Dean rolled his eyes, "Sleepy child?" he said disbelieving what he had just seen. "Thought you left that one couple years back"  
"Bite me!" Sam shook his hair forwards over his eyes and put his head on the table.  
"Oh. Sulky teen. Great" Dean got up.  
Sam grunted something.

At the counter he sat on a stool. He switched off the charm routine. He nodded to the waitress and picked up the tray with the food.  
"I'll take it over. Your feet must be killing you. Plus the teenage yeti just switched from nice to grump." He gave her the 'kids. What can you do?' look.  
"Got one of my own at home. Spends the time she ain't on the phone moping in her room."  
He turned and looked at his little brother. Sammy didn't have a room to mope in and since the last town, the last call he had made was to the morgue. Dean felt his mask slip a little. He fixed it back on and turned a weary smile to the woman. "Tell me about it. Thanks for the pie Ma'am"  
"You're welcome" she smiled and went back to the kitchen. No doubt to do one of the million things she had to do before dawn.  
Always things to do in the dark. Dean got that.

"Pie" he announced. Pushing the bigger slice towards Sam. It was their shorthand for 'I'm sorry'.  
Sam looked up. "Yeah. Me too."

Into the third refill and second hour the inevitable happened. Sam got out from the bench. "Going to the Head"  
Dean looked round the diner. The hunter group at the window didn't look like they would mind if a guy took his brother to the bathroom. Sam, on the other hand, would call it being babied. Or annoying.  
"Don't forget to wash your hands" Dean finished his coffee.  
Sam rolled his eyes.  
Dean went to the payphone at the counter. Putting a couple of coins in the slot he punched in the code for free calls he had got from Caleb. He followed it with his Dad's number. Pick up the phone!" he instructed his Dad in a whisper. "It's the green button" and the fiftieth time I've told you, he thought silently. His Dad dismantled an engine and put it back together. He had yet to see him remember to answer the cell phone.

John opened his jacket. Hand still on the wheel, he automatically turned in his seat and started to hand the phone back. With two fingers, like it would explode.  
"Damn it" he swore. Forgetting he had left the boys and their bickering in the rear-view mirror. He looked at the display. Caller Unknown.  
"Green button." Puzzled and angry he glared at the cheery singing thing.  
"Green button" He glanced down from the road at the flashing box.  
It had stopped making noise. Too late to make out the answer button in the dark. He threw the contraption into the passenger seat.  
"Damn it"  
The black Impala did an illegal u-turn on the empty highway. Heading back to the truck stop diner it had passed earlier.

"Damn it" Sam swore.  
"What no toilet paper?" Dean looked up from the salt container he was emptying on the table.  
"No, dude, you gotta do that? I think I'm allergic to the soap, you'll get us thrown out." Sam slid back into the booth.  
"Yeah I gotta do it. Bored" increasing the flow of salt, he drew an extending spiral on the table.  
Dean sneaked a look at his brother's massive paw like hands. "Let me see" Sam held his hands out and turned them over. There were red scratches on the back of his hands.  
"You'll live"  
"If you are so bored, start counting the stars." Sam snatched his hands back. Hiding them under the table like not seeing them would make them itch less.  
Dean chuckled at the memory. It had been a game to keep Sammy, from asking if they were there yet, every ten seconds. It was only when Sam had learned the names from a book he found that Dean stopped looking out the window. There were better things to count. Ammo, socks, charms, holy water, twinkies, kills. Dollars won on the pool table. Those were especially fun to count.

Sam recognised the look on his brother's face. He was thinking back to "the good old days" he hated that. Dean grabbed his leg and spat out "What the…?" Seeing the waitress nearby he changed his intended word "heck!" rubbing his shin.  
"Stay in the now Dean. Last time you had that look you told Mary-Lou Rebeki about how cute I was potty training" Sam shuddered at the memory.  
"You should have seen your face!" Dean got up. "If you haven't broken my leg too bad, I'm going to use the restroom." He was half way across the floor before he turned round and loudly said "You were Sammy."  
"What?"  
"Cute"  
"Jerk!"  
"Cutie pie!"  
"Cut it out Dean!"  
"Ok sweetie!"  
"Dean!"

* * *

Pulling into the car lot, he looked for signs his boys were at this place. No cop cars, no skid marks, missing trucks. Usual signs his older son had been here. Sammy didn't leave any signs. He was a ghost, just passing through.  
"Diner or a bar first?" John realised, as he took a coin from his pocket, that talking to yourself was the first sign of madness. Tossing it up and looking down as it hit the floor unseen. "Diner" his stomach agreed.  
There had been no stops other than for gas since early the morning before.  
Perhaps why things had been so volatile.  
An army marches, or drives, with its stomach.

Sam idly picked up the salt and started making pattern on the table. Protection symbols he had learned. Some of the other stuff Dean had done was sort of like them. Dean was just a sucky artist.  
Finishing the container, he went to the edge of the booth and grabbed another from a nearby table.  
As he returned to his seat, his Dad sat opposite. "Hey kiddo" he moved Dean's coffee away from him and dusted some of the salt from the table. He put both hands on the table. Empty. Sam clicked on the safety catches on his weapon. Setting it beside him on the bench, out of sight. He sat up straighter. Uncomfortable. Not sure what to expect. He avoided meeting his father's eyes. Finding a spot in the distance.  
"You eat?"  
"Pie"  
"Any good?"  
"Famous"  
"Guess I'll try a piece" he waved to the waitress. Raising his voice so she didn't have to leave the counter. "Pie please ma'am"  
"Sure hon. Coffee?" She called back.  
"Please"  
Sam sat there. He just didn't get what was going on in his son's head. Proud of his reaction. The gun had been the first thought. Waiting for the teenage rebellion to take over from the years of precision training.  
"You left us" Sammy stated.  
There is was. John sighed.

They sat for two minutes. In silence. Not know what to say. Even how to say it.

John picked up the salt and tipped it up. He was going to show Sammy a new glyph. Repeller of evil spirits. The lid came off and a small mountain of salt landed on the table. Sam looked at it for a long moment. Then, they both laughed. Tension broken by the noise. Just a father and son sitting in a diner eating pie. Or about to. John reached over to another table. Two salt sellers in one hand. He tipped up the first one. The lid came off. John didn't stop to laugh at it this time. He quickly upended the last one. The same thing.  
Licking his finger he stuck it in the granules. Licking it again, "Sugar" his humour drained from his face.  
"What is it Dad?"  
"Where's Dean?"  
"Restroom"  
John put his knuckles on the side of Dean's mug. Half full and tepid.  
"How long?"  
"I would have looked at my watch and timed it. But my watch was in the car when it drove off"  
"Sammy. I don't have time for your hormones. How long has your brother been gone?" John's tone invited no more backchat.  
"A little while I guess"  
"Guess better" He snapped at Sam.  
"About ten minutes, Sir" Sam picked up on his Dad's concern. "Why? Is there something here?"  
"There are signs of mischief, not caused by you two. Sugar in the salt. Lids off." His eyes scanned the room for more. "Chewing gum on the roof"  
"Itching powder on the soap" Sam glanced towards the restroom doors. Hoping Dean would be walking towards out of them.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken a few goes. The square hadn't worked. The Pentagram had made one them giddy. Funny as hell, the laughing let them get closer. They kept on running past him and smacking him with their whole arm. Yes they were little, it still hurt.  
Direct eye contact seemed to make them stop in their tracks. Only worked with one at a time. Circles seemed to be effective. Dean narrowed down his list, getting an idea of what these things were.  
Dean drew another circle round one of the creatures with his knife. "Atten-hut" he ordered. It stood bolt upright, at attention. He broke eye contact to scan for the rest of them. The ground was muddy and barren. He had been herded out towards a small hilly area. A line of hastily draw circles and shapes showed the path he had taken.  
Just making it to a meter tall, Dean examined it. "You need a haircut" it's scruffy hair stood up on end in places and covered the top of it's head, all the way to it s nose. The flat face was broken by what looked like at permanate grin. "Having fun are you?"  
A hairy blur whipped past him. It scrubbed part of the circle away and they both flew off into the dark. They giggled as they went.

"Aw come on", Dean looked around him. Flying? he looked back towards the diner. He was getting further from his coffee. "Not good" he whispered to himself.  
"Argh" he let out a scream of pain. He took a few more steps back. In his leg, bobbing up and down, was a fork. He pulled it out of his leg, leaving behind four growing specks of blood at the bottom of his jeans. Checking his wound, he heard a group getting closer. Twenty little creatures swarmed towards him. No smiles. Some with sticks. Others with sharp sticks.  
Time to go to plan C. That usual meant being caught and rescued. He scratched a word into the ground and slammed the fork in next to it. Dean hated plan C, worse than being stabbed by kitchen utensils.  
"Dad" he let out a prayer and slipped the knife into his pocket. Laced his fingers behind his head, limped into the direction they had been trying to drive him.

* * *

They found the back door open.  
"Stay here Sammy" he stormed out into the yard.  
"But Dad...."  
"Stay!"

John scanned the darkness and listened. He left the step, onto the mud.  
Sam hugged the doorframe. Half behind it. His Dad walked over the area. There was no sign of Dean. He saw a square scratched in the ground. After that a triangle. He walked to the edge of the step. His Dad was looking at a pentagram and a close by circle, all with little bare footprints surrounding them. Lots of footprints. Dean's boot prints looked like he had come from the hills, until the last circle where they turned towards them. His left foot dragged a little. John looked out into the dark that had taken his boy. He yanked the fork from the ground in one fierce movement. Next to it was one word.

**TROW.**

* * *

"Dad!" Sam followed his father to the car. "We have to get out there. Something has Dean. We have to get him back!"  
"Not something. Trow." John found what he was looking for. His hunting knives. He moved past the holy water and shotgun. Here he passed Sam the tire iron. "We'll get your brother back."  
"Yes sir"  
"Good boy. Now, we need food and drink." John closed the trunk. "I'll go to the bar for drink, go buy enough for a picnic," he reached for his wallet. If Dean was here they would need the money. He was a proper rapscallion. Sam was too honest. Like his mother. John heart ached. Just like Mary. John's own father wondered what she ever saw in him.  
"Did I ever tell you about the Trow?"  
"No Sir"

**:: Fourteen years earlier ::**

"Did I ever tell you about the Trow?"  
"No" Dean pulled the blanket up to his chin. Granddad's stories were always good. He liked the funny ones. He liked the ones he would understand when he was older. He even liked the scary stories. Sort of. With the covers over your head, the bad things couldn't get you. But you can't hear the story that way. Granddad knew about these things. Daddy would say they were made up and Granddad is a silly old fart. But don't tell him I said so kiddo. He would wink and ruffle his hair.

"My Grandpa used to tell us about the Trow. They live in the hills at the back of his neighbour's farm."  
"Normally, you can't see them, unless they let you. People who see them would be stolen away. Sometimes for a day, sometimes a year, some times," Granddad whispered "Never to be seen again"  
Dean squirmed into a little ball. His knees up to his chest. It didn't sound like it was going to be a funny story.

"Mostly they keep to the hills. Only coming out to play and dance and sing a few nights a year."  
"Granddad?" Dean was puzzled.  
"Yeah?"  
"What do they look like?" Dean would need to know in case he saw one by accident and it took him away.  
"A Trow is a little person. About your height, but all grown up. They have scruffy hair down to their chins. They only come out at night. They love to sing and eat. They can fly and fight and fish. The thing they like most is to cause devilment. They will knock things over and throw water over people. Grandpa even said they snuck into his house some nights and swapped his shoes around."  
"I swapped my milk for Mike's orange juice" Dean liked orange juice better. Mike had a juicer at the garage. He would cut up the oranges with a really sharp knife and feed them into the juicer. Dean liked the sound. Buzz. Juice.  
Granddad laughed. "They didn't swap the shoes for something. They put them the wrong way round. So when my Grandpa got dressed, his shoes were on wrong. Made him walk backwards."  
That made sense to Dean. You go where your shoes are pointing. He nodded.  
"Once a year, about this time of year, the Trow have a party that can last days. They play music, drink and trick people. On those days, Grandpa and his family would stay indoors. In the morning some of the food would be gone and things outside would be knocked over."  
"Didn't anyone tell them to stop it?"  
"Well, they would fly away so quick, you couldn't be sure you had seen them. One man was tired of tidying up after them. So, he stayed up one night. All night. So he could tell them to stop it."  
"Did they take him away?" Dean looked worried. If they could take away a grown up, a kid would be easy.  
"Nearly. But just as one of them got close. He stared into the Trow's eyes." Granddad's eyes open wide. Dean blinked away. "The Trow couldn't move. The man shouted 'Stop it' and said a prayer under his breath. The man put his pocket knife in the ground and lay on his back. The little Trow flew off into the night to join his friends at the dance."

**::Fourteen years later ::**

"Direct eye contact. Circles and prayers. Got it?" Dad asked Sam.  
"Yes Sir." Sam packed the last of the supplies into his backpack.  
"I'll take point. You back my plays to the letter. You hear me?" Dad didn t look back.  
"Yes sir"

They marched round the diner rather than go through it. The hills were only a short distance from back of the building. He could feel the familiar fear. But it was made a thousand times worse by Dean not being there, to tell him everything would be alright. In Dean's way that is. He could hear him saying 'Let's go Dude'


	3. Chapter 3

"Dude. Let go." Dean brushed the drunken Trow's arm from his leg.  
He sunk heavily to the ground. "Look, this is fun and all, but sweetheart, I'm not your type. I'm going to sit this one out." The trow looked disappointed, but was off into the crowed dance in no time.  
"What? No tears? Damn Dean. You are losing it man"

He had been dancing for what seemed like hours. The moves he had learned stopped him from getting trampled under many small choreographed feet. Left foot, right foot, to the right one, to the left and twirl. Given a roped swing and a bow, it was like Dad s improvised assault courses. Just as tiring any way. Dean watched as the music changed, it got faster and Trow lined up into to two columns. Fifteen Trows on each side

A lull in the tune was the sign for the dance to start. Two Trows moved towards each other from opposite lines. They spun each other one way, then the next. Only to go to the next person in line and spin those people. This was repeated down the line. Once down at the bottom, the couple at the head of the line started. Dean watched, almost hypnotised by the beat and the movement. The tune sped up, impossibly, again. And then every fourth trow started the same steps, with the one opposite. Dean started to clap with the beat. Caught up in the breathless enthusiasm. He tapped his foot when he was handed a steaming bowl of potatoes and stew. Barely staying on their toes, they dance like it's all there was to do. Dean swallowed the food and washed it down with a beer.

Maybe being kidnapped by little people wasn't all that bad.

* * *

It was bad. John Winchester decided. His eldest was being seduced by nothing more than a hot meal and a good beat. He rolled his eyes, they had to be better than this. It was a good beat and his stomach growled when he smelled the stew on the breeze. He didn't let Sammy see his amusement and temptation. "Set the food down here. Fill each of the cups with whiskey. And no laughing"  
Sammy set about his task for about three seconds before asking a question. "Why am I not laughing?"  
John picked up the tire iron and headed out.  
"Dad!" Sam stomped his foot like a pissed off goat.  
"Sammy. Pour." John pointed at the plastic containers. He couldn't believe he was about to do this.

* * *

Sam had done most the setup before his Dad came back from drawing a big circle in the ground. There was just one gap, which it was Sam s job to complete when the time was right.  
"How are we going to get them to walk into a trap?"  
"We give them a taste of their own medicine." Dad winked the wink. The one that meant he was making it up as he went along. There was a ghost of a smile there. Sam stared out and glimpsed his brother through the waves of dancing Trows. Smiling. Dad's made up plans were better than most. They were getting Dean back.

* * *

When the dance finished. Some ate food. Others drank beer. Small groups of them started to fight. Dirty fighting. Low blows and almost some biting. Dean smiled. It looked like fun. He was about to take another drink and arm wrestle a rather burly looking Trow when he heard it. It was familiar, but not comforting. It reminded of a time long since gone. Never to be revisited or remembered for more than a second. It was a rule. The phrase, remember when, didn't start until the road trip and the fight.

A low gravely voice sung a tune that made Dean feel safe and lonely at the same time. The voice drew the Trow to it. They loved a good show. Dean? He was just nosey.

Most of the Trow, those that weren't passed out or too tired to move, were watching him sing. He saw Dean at the edge, his eyes were hurting his soul. He closed his and sang the last few words. He caught the gaze of the trow and in the split second while they couldn t move he made his move.  
"Sammy! Close the circle!" Dad ran at and tackled Dean. Threw them both out of the area.

"Hi Dad" Dean grinned from beneath Dad.  
"You ok son?" Dad grinned back.  
"Little difficult breathing. Shock of hearing you sing. Or is Sammy trying out a new aftershave"  
Dad rolled off Dean on to his feet. Checking for loose Trow he offered Dean his hand. When he was upright he took Dean into hug. Sam hung back a little. Dad's hand reached out to him. He joined the hug. Dean gasped a little.  
"Is Dad singing again?" he wheezed.

* * *

They let go and headed back to the car. John took the lead. Marching in single file they got into the car. As the doors closed John caught their eyes in the rear view mirror.  
"Any mention of me singing, ever again, and you are walking!" he growled.  
"Yes Sir." both boys answered as they pulled faces at each other.

The impala pulled out of the car park and back on to the highway as the sun peeked up over the horizon. A Dad tempted to hit the breaks every hundred miles and the kids arguing on the back seat.

* * *

Authors Notes:

This story was quite fun to write. Like some of the sibling moments.

I actually made up a bit of back story about John's Dad. I don't know his name. But he looks like John. His Dad was a marine, but it skipped a generation to John. I think he work with his hands. With horses. He tells Dean about Trows the day Sammy is born. He is babysitting while John and Mary are at the hospital. His own grandfather's family comes from Orkney. Where the legend of Trow and myself hail from.

Trow-wikipedia :.org/wiki/Trow_(folklore)

--------------------------------

"Whoever meets a trow should draw a circle around him and bid 'Gjud be about me', or lie down and stick a knife in the ground at his head."


End file.
